Augustus

Time passed and rumors spread that Ventidius was accepting bribes to hold back from taking Samosata. Antony decided to come and conclude the campaign in person. He dismissed Ventidius and never employed him again. However, Samosata proved a tougher nut to crack than he had thought. Antony negotiated a settlement, and returned to Athens for the winter of 38–37 B.C. According to Plutarch, he received three hundred Greek talents, the equivalent of more than seven million sesterces, to pay for his departure. How did this price compare, one wonders, with what Ventidius received?

The thought of Antony assuming the moral high ground on account of a subordinate’s financial impropriety seems out of character. It is rather more likely that the triumvir was “jealous of [Ventidius] because he had gained the reputation of having carried out a brave exploit independently.” Whatever the truth of the matter, the jettisoning of a commander of Ventidius’ caliber combined arrogance with carelessness.

Octavian had little difficulty in keeping up-to-date with Mark Antony’s activities. Although communications were slow and could be difficult or even dangerous, individuals, whether businessmen or state officials, wrote home with news and gossip. The triumvir had plenipotentiary powers, but he was expected to send dispatches to the Senate and keep his colleague in the picture. Octavia, back in Rome while her husband was on campaign and looking after her large brood of six children and stepchildren, worked to promote his interests and to smooth relations between the two men in her life.

The first reports from Antioch, which Antony fixed as his headquarters, showed him at his best. The invasion by Pakûr was evidence that the client kingdoms, which acted as buffers between the Parthians and the Roman empire, needed strengthening. Antony redrew the map, carving out large territories for men he trusted, all of them Greek-speaking west Asians—Amyntas in Galatia, Polemo in Pontus, Archelaus-Sisinnes in Cappadocia, and Herod in the much smaller but strategically important kingdom of Judea. As the ruler of the Roman east, he needed monarchs stable enough to resist military shocks and strong enough to react effectively to them.

But the monarch on whom the triumvir placed the greatest reliance was the queen of Egypt. Nearly four years had passed since the pair had met. One would suppose that they kept in touch by letter, if only to discuss their twins, Alexander and Cleopatra, who had grown into sturdy toddlers. It would be wrong to think, though, that either party was in love; their relationship was essentially that of two professional politicians who needed to do business with each other.

Antony and Cleopatra renewed their friendship at the respective ages of forty-five and thirty-three. They quickly came to an understanding (and, equally quickly, the queen became pregnant again); Egypt’s resources were placed at the triumvir’s disposal, and in return Cleopatra received substantial territories. These included a string of coastal cities running from Mount Carmel in the south to today’s Lebanon, part of Cilicia, and other regions north and south of Judea. The queen viewed this enlargement of her power as being of the first importance. She had largely reconstituted the Ptolemaic empire as it had been in its heyday, two centuries before.

Back at Rome nobody saw anything especially scandalous about these developments; Antony’s reorganization of the east made very good sense, and it appeared that, a good judge of character, he had chosen able and intelligent people for his client kings. As a onetime appendage of Julius Caesar, Cleopatra was familiar to the Roman political class, even if they did not particularly like her. She was obviously a competent ruler; it mattered little that Antony had stepped into his predecessor’s bedroom slippers.

Octavian, though, found the renewal of the liaison disagreeable and threatening. It was an insult to his sister, Octavia; also, he noted with interest that Antony’s children were provided with additional names about this time, being now called Alexander Helios (Greek “Sun”) and Cleopatra Selene (“Moon”). Being illegitimate, the children had no hereditary status either Roman or Egyptian, but the new cognomens gave them a quasidivine prestige.

More serious, though, and more embarrassing for Octavian, was the fact that Cleopatra was almost part of the family. Her co-monarch, Ptolemy XV Caesar, was the son whom she claimed, almost certainly truthfully, to have had by Julius Caesar. In his eleventh year, Caesarion was the murdered god’s real, not adoptive, offspring; it would not be so very long before he could create some trouble, if backed by Antony and his mother.

How did Mark Antony’s contemporaries regard a man who was unfaithful to his wife? This question cannot be answered without an understanding of Roman sexual mores.